


Tap Tap Tap, Here I Am

by mrcheese5728



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Crying, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Anxiety, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Stimming, adhd fucks with your brainy shit so much that depression symptoms happen ya know, adhd is a BITCH sometimes, big anxiety, can you have adhd and not have anxiety ksdfjsdj, for sure for sure, geralts a good friend, i left it pretty ambigious, i make Jaskier suffer because i was bored, i ship them but this isn't really shippy at all, thats it that the fic, this can be read with shipping goggles!, this is projection to the extreme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrcheese5728/pseuds/mrcheese5728
Summary: There isn’t even a real reason why he’s feeling so fucking stressed. Sometimes he just has days where little, tiny things that bother him aren’t able to be ignored and it’s like all his bottled annoyance and stress is going to be felt today.Jaskier already feels like he’s about to cry, and he hasn’t even been awake for five fucking minutes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 151





	Tap Tap Tap, Here I Am

**Author's Note:**

> I have adhd and like. I made jaskier suffer  
> i've had shit like this happen and really i just wanted to write about it so i did.
> 
> ANYWAY heres some detailed warnings about the content:  
> SUICIDAL THOUGHTS as passing thoughts that are kind of more intrusive then anything else,  
> SELF-HARM mentions (as in like, hitting your ears and head when you're overwhelmed),  
> BREAKDOWN i described all of this for Jask as a breakdown cause that's what I call this situation when it happens to me  
> CHILDHOOD ABUSE as in like, parents who have no fucking idea what's "wrong" with their kid and just think their doing these things because they don't listen or some other bullshit reasons idk I'm not a parent I'm the kid lol  
> DISSOCIATION MENTION it...could be described as dissociation at some points. Idk what it really is but pitting it her just in case  
> ANXIETY behavior, like the overwhelming feeling you get when someone watches you being vulnerable and you're like AH i don't like it!

Jaskier knows, as he stirs into consciousness on the lumpy bed roll on the forest floor, that today is _already going to be a bad day._ There isn’t a moment of peace as he wakes up; he is immediately feeling stressed and wound tight, in a way that leaves his hands and feet all but trembling with nerves and energy. His foot begins wiggling in the bottom of his bedroll anxiously, and he groans and buries his face into the crook of his arm in an attempt to ward off what the fuck is going to happen today.

There isn’t even a real reason why he’s feeling so fucking stressed. Sometimes he just has days where little, tiny things that bother him aren’t able to be ignored and it’s like all his bottled annoyance and stress is _going to be felt today._

Jaskier already feels like he’s about to cry, and he hasn’t even been awake for five fucking minutes. 

Jaskier isn’t exactly a morning person, but he wouldn’t say that he’s also not _not_ a morning person. Waking up, in general, feels like the damn cost of living and breathing and is something that Jaskier only begrudgingly pays, because honestly what other choice does he have? It’s not like he can just lay in his bed roll forever and stare at basically nothing. Maybe if he could actually fucking enjoy things, he’d be more active and appreciate mornings more. 

Well he _technically_ could lay there and do nothing until he dies, but then he’d have to feel the dehydration and hunger and general shittiness of dying and he’s not really about _actually_ dying, thanks. 

Jaskier exhales heavily - it’s not really a _sigh,_ but it could be - and he opens his eyes to see the view of a rather uncountable number of trees and shrubbery. He can feel the almost warm coziness of being in his bedroll, and he buries himself a bit more in an attempt to feel the almost-contentedness that comes with a sleep warmed bed. 

But it’s a bit too rough and a bit too fucking cold, and Jaskie is _annoyed._

Fuck. 

He sighs - cause this one is definitely a sigh - and shoves himself out of the bedroll like a newborn fawn finding its first steps. Jaskier thinks its a pretty good comparison, as his feet aren’t really fucking working with him and his feet feel _too fucking awkward, why can’t they just do what he wants them to do,_ and he feels a little, maybe a teensy bit, like he’s been scrubbed raw already and exposed to everything the world has to offer.

Jaskier feels a familiar tightness in his chest and throat, and tries to breath a bit steadier to ignore the fucking feeling of _I’m about to cry because life is too much, apparently._ He rubs his eyes in a way to help him clear his vision, but really only succeeds in feeling crusty and gross and even more tired. 

Fuck. 

He still wants to cry. 

There’s an edge of frustration and borderline hysteria that’s bubbling up in his mouth, and he presses his lips tighter in an attempt to hold it fucking together. It’s not working, and he _feels like fucking crying._

_Fucking annoying fucking annoying fucking annoying_

He stares at a nearby bush in a desperate attempt for a distraction, trying to focus on the individual leaves. There's a gentle breeze that makes the branches sway ever so slightly, and he runs his eyes over the edges of the leaves as they move. Jaskier continues to look at the bushes and feels a bit of the anxiety fade as he watches the leaves move. 

He keeps looking at them. His brain slowly, so slowly, starts to feel a bit empty and blank.

It’s a fucking relief. 

Jaskiers aware that he’s been staring at the plant for a fair bit of time, and he completely fucking forgets that Geralt is there until he speaks. 

“What the fuck are you doing, bard?”

Jaskier continues to stare at the plant, but he turns his head in the direction of Geralt to reply. He’s got to say something, but he can’t actually fucking look away from the bush now. 

After a long few moments of not saying anything he just turns his head back to face the plant. He blinks. Wait. Blinks again and finally looks away from the plant to turn and see Geralt, who’s looking at him with mild annoyance and a bit of what might be called confusion. Jaskier almost starts to speak, but he just frowns and looks at Geralt's general direction for a moment, before blinking again and moving his shoulders in a way that's probably a shrug. 

Whatever. He’s already out of fucks today. The brief relief is gone, and he’s back to being fucking annoyed.

It’s obvious that Geralt wants to get moving, so he huffs in frustrations and starts to do things that might help him feel like a person again. 

It doesn’t really work. He feels out of touch with himself, like his body is moving but he’s lagging behind it. Everything is just that much unreal, and Jaskier feels the frustration building up even more as he stumbles around to accomplish anything. He doesn’t take the time to neatly place his things in his pack, merely folding them in a somewhat appropriate manner and shoving other things in the pack on top. It’s a mess and it’s making the pack a bit lumpy and out of it’s nice square shape, and Jaskier _hates it._ He pushes on one bulge to try and make it look a bit better but it doesn’t work. 

What the fuck ever then. He’ll just walk on the other side of Roach so he doesn’t have to see it and he’ll sort it out later so it looks nice. 

His last thing is the bedroll, and this is something that he _cannot_ have looking like a half-down job and needs to be as even and tight as possible. He shakes it out and carefully lines up the edges, and begins rolling it up carefully. His hands aren’t steady.

It's uneven. The middle sticks out on one side and is too deep in on the other. He attempts to pull the middle section out on the other to even it out but only makes it look weirder. 

He hates it, and he can feel his eyes burning. His hands feel cold and begin to tremble more. He closes his eyes and tries to take a steady breath, and fails. Jaskier opens his eyes and looks at the shape and it _bothers him bothers him bothers him._

He turns around and shoves the bedroll at Geralt without looking at him, because Geralt has to put it on Roach cause Jaskier will fuck it up somehow and if he does he might _actually_ start crying in the middle of the forest with his most emotionally constipated friend to witness it.

Jaskier does know that he acts strange sometimes, but he also doesn’t get how it’s weird? He doesn’t know why other people don’t do it, when it’s just things he _does_ and kind of helps his brain go a bit blank in a way that helps him zone out when he’s stressed or focused for a task. He’s always kind of moving in some way or another, but he doesn’t usually see people that _taptaptap_ on things like he does, or stare at nothing in particular for long periods of time while rocking and be just completely fine with it. He knows that he gestures a lot when he speaks, but there are certain gestures he does that don’t really seem to indicate things to other people but make _complete_ sense to him. 

Isn’t most of how people communicate based on body language? Isn’t using your hands part of that? Why don’t people _get it?_

Or maybe it not, and Jaskiers just a fucking weirdo who’s too loud and too expressive and too emotional and _fucking annoying_ and he’s only like this because he couldn’t fucking listen to this parents and his teachers. 

Jaskier blinks, and realizes that he's just standing there staring at the lute case in his hands. He sighs again and slings it over his back and grips the straps tightly. He pulls the strap just enough to feel the pressure of his lute case against his back and exhales softly. It helps. He grips the strap tighter and doesn’t say anything when Geralt gives him a weird look before hopping on Roach and beginning their journey. He’s not really up for words right now.

Jaskier still doesn’t say anything, just watching the ground kind of numbly to make sure he doesn’t fucking trip or something equally stupid. The frustration remains, but lessens to more of something that's just lingering around him. 

He frowns, and kicks a stick a way from his path. It’s not a good kick and the branch doesn’t move that far away and suddenly Jaskier is _really fucking mad._

He doesn’t do anything stupid like kick the branch again or stomp on it, though he wants to but knows that it won’t be satisfying. Bastard stick. He releases the strap of his lute, feels the weight of it shift and is instantly annoyed by the lack of pressure, and begins playing with his ring instead to have something to focus on. 

He takes it off and puts it on his pointer finger, which is too small for the ring to fit properly but is just right to rub at with his thumb and spin it around. It helps, and Jaskier sighs softly. 

Fucking everything. 

He looks up from his hands and the ground to the forest around the path, but nothing’s really holding his interest. Ugh.

Usually, Jaskier is playing with his lute or talking to Geralt or Roach, but he’s just in such a bad mood that he’s fucking annoyed with himself and the fact that he can’t even do anything normal. A long time passes and Jaskier still doesn’t even try to speak, just feels all his fucking feelings and tries not to get under heel. His feet fucking hurt and he’s tired.

He glances over at Roach and her quiet rider on top. He and Geralt have been traveling together for years at this point, but Jaskier has had a bad day like _this_ in a really long time, and definitely not around Geralt. Usually he’ll just try to drink until he passes out and he doesn’t have to fucking be awake for any of this and _hopefully_ it’ll pass before he wakes up again.

But theres no fucking tavern around for quite a fucking while, and he’s in the middle of fucking knowwhere and he’s too hot to be comfortable but he can’t take of his doublet because he _needs_ to be covered and he’d rather be hot than cold but he’s _still fucking sweaty_ and the air is warm and it’s fucking awful and oh look, there’s the frustation at full force again and he’s really, _really_ trying hard to keep his hands from doing something stupid like hitting his head or legs because he isn’t supposed to do that and-

“What the hell is your problem, bard?” Geralt finally asks, and Jaskier realizes that he’s stopped walking and is breathing slightly too fast, all while glaring at nothing. There's a bit of anxiety in his throat and frustration _everywhere_ and he really just wants to throw his arms around and kick things and be loud to feel better but he _can't_ because it doesn’t even really work anyway, and it leaves him tired and with more problems then he started off with. 

Jaskiers eyes are burning again. The frustation twists and all he’s starting to feel is _panic_ which is fucking ridiculous and he tries to breath in, and shoves his hands into his eyes until all he can see is weird shapes and colors. He’s starting to get a bad headache.

He still breathing heavy and he thinks he might be trembling all over, and he _still_ wants to kick his legs and shake all the energy out of his hands but he fucking _can’t_ and yep, now he’s fucking crying. All while in front of Geralt. 

He feels so fucking _embarassed_ at acting so fucking ridiculous over basically nothing but knowing it only makes him cry more, and it begins to feed into this endless cycle of fucking _mess._

He makes some kind of sound, like a whine or something, and his cheeks flush with shame as he tries to just _pull it together._

_Shut up! Shut up! Go away! Stop it!_

There isn’t any place to fucking hide and cry away till this is over, because he’s in the middle of the road having a breakdown in front of a probably annoyed Geralt and impatient Roach. 

_How fucking pathetic._

He just cries more. 

He doesn’t want Geralt to see him like this. Doesn’t want _anyone_ to see him like this. He didn’t let his parents see this and he hasn’t let his lovers seen this, hasn’t let _anyone_ seen this because it’s fucking embarassing and ridiculous and he doesn’t even really know why it happens, but he makes sure to go hide before he does so no one can see him.

What kind of a fucking travel companion just has a breakdown for no reason that makes sense?!

He can’t do his normal things. He isn’t feeling better, and is in fact only feeling more and more worse as time goes and all he’s doing is fucking sobbing and trying to pull himself together, because he’s a damn adult and he’s supposed to have all his shit handled but clearly _doesn’t._

Fucking hell, he really doesn’t have control over anything does he? Can’t control his hands, can’t control his feelings, can’t control being loud or being annoying or _anything_ because he’s just that fucking pathetic, apparently. 

Jaskier can’t look up. Doesn’t want to look up, because he doesn’t want to see what Geralt looks like while he’s doing whatever the fuck this is. He’s probably making Geralt feel awkward and annoyed, and he’s almost certainly holding Geralt back because he’s supposed to be _helping_ Geralt and his reputation. 

He can’t fucking do it right now though, that’s for sure. 

His spine is feeling stiff and his legs are stinging and he wants to move but he can’t really, cause it seems stupid to shift your weight when you’re standing in the middle of the road crying.

_Fuck._

He tries to pull himself together just enough to _stop crying at least,_ but he still can’t really do much other than try to make himself feel nothing until the tears stop. And he can’t fucking do that because _Geralt is looking at him._

Jaskier wipes away the tears with the sleeve of his doublet - ew - and his cheeks feel raw and sting slightly and his _hands are wet_ and kinda stick and definitely gross and Jaskier just _hates it so much, why is this happening?_

He wipes his hands on his trousers, still not looking up but knowing that Geralt is still there because he can’t hear Roach’s steps, and finally just turns away completely from Geralt and Roach, and plunks his ass on the ground so he doesn’t have to stand and so he _doesn’t have to look_ and feels a little less seen.

He holds his head in his hands as he stares at the blurry ground, and tries to ignore how fucking gross he feels and how gross the ground is. He feels nothing but _awful_ right now, and he’d just really, really like to go drown himself in a bathtub right now. 

The thought makes him blink in surprise, and then he starts to smile as he stares at the ground. Harsh laughter starts filling the air, and he’s sure that he must look fucking _insane_ with his proabably crazed smile and wild eyes. The laughter turns into something that just sounds like really, really painful wheezing - and yes his entire torso fucking _hurts_ and so does his feet because he’s sitting criss cross on the _fucking ground_ in the middle of the damn road - and honestly, it kind of sounds like he’s dying. 

He fucking wishes. 

Jaskier finally gets enough of his breathing under control to lean over and be closer to the ground, and hiding even more. It’s darker with his arms covering him, and it’s still hard to breath but it feels just a little bit calmer. He’s staring to slump because of the fucking _exhaustion_ he feels, now that the tears are mostly stopping and he’s just left with this fucking headache and it’s still hard to breathe and oh yeah - theres the entire part where he’s got to deal with the aftermath with Geralt about whatever this is.

He doesn’t ever forget that Geralt is right there and seeing all of this. 

Eventually, the tears begin to stop and his eyelashes just feel damp and weird and Jaskier is just fucking _worn._

He pushes himself up into a sitting position and wipes away the rest of the tears and sniffs his nose to try and breathe better. It’s gross and he still has that fucking headache. He sits there for a moment longer, because in a minute he’s going to have to get up and dust himself off, and then he’ll have to make up some reason for what just happened, and he _really_ just doesn’t want to. 

It’s when he finally looks up from the ground that he sees that Geralt is crouched by him, looking awkward and confused, and if Jaskier was willing to put his heart on the line he’d say he was worried too. 

Jaskier quickly looks away, goes back to looking at his hands. The ring is still on his finger, and he touches it, twirls it. It’s a little wet and he rubs it away.

He clears his throat. 

“Uh, sorry.” Jaskier says, his voice rough and hoarse in a way that makes him grimace. He lips his lips and tries to continue. “Sorry for just, ya know, crying in the middle of the road out of nowhere. Rather dramatic, I have to say.” He blinks more, and inhales once more to make himself have some fucking sense of _anything._ “Terribly sorry that I’ve delayed our journey and made you and Roach wait on me while I had my, uh, thing.”

Words are supposed to be _his thing,_ because _he’s_ the damn poet and bard, but there aren’t any pretty words right now. 

He goes back to playing with the ring, running his fingers along the edge of the band. 

“What was that?” Geralt asks, and for the life of him Jaskier can’t really tell what Geralt's feeling, because that “witchers don’t feel emotions” thing is such complete and utter bullshit that was disproven within minutes of meeting the witcher. Annoyance is _very much_ an emotion, idiot witcher.

Jaskier blinks. “Uh, not sure really.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt growls, and Jaskier can’t help but wave his arms around in an attempt to ward off his feeling of _ridiculousness._

“I don’t! I really don’t! Sometimes this just _happens._ I don’t know what you want me to say because I don’t have any pretty words for you to hear, witcher.” There's the frustration coming on again, and Jaskier sighs harshly because _for fucks sake._ He’s _done_ with this fucking conversation, and he’s done with Geralt. He’s tired and annoyed and _doesn’t want to deal with this._

He kind of just wants to lay in the middle of the damn road and be left alone. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything for a few moments and Jaskiers just about to say something that’s probably mean and meaningless, when Geralt stands up. 

“Get up.” Jaskier blinks but sighs, and is about to deal with the struggle that is _getting up off the ground after crying your eyes out_ when he sees that Geralt’s offered his hand in front of him. Jaskier looks at it for a long moment before taking it and letting himself be pulled up with ease by the witcher.

His legs are weak and sting as he gets feeling back into them, but he merely shakes his legs out and tries to be a fucking functional person again. Geralt doesn’t let go of his hand while he does so, probably so he doesn’t lose his balance and fall on his face. 

How thoughtful of his witcher. 

Jaskier mutters something like a thanks, but is struck by how fucking _worn_ he is now that he has to support his weight and fucking do everything. Ugh. 

Geralt eyes him a bit before letting him go, but he does turn Jaskier around and leads him to Roach by the shoulder. It’s fucking weird and definitely not what Jaskier thought Geralt would do. Geralt searches one of Roaches bags and retrieves a water pouch, and shoves it in Jaskiers direction. 

“Drink.” Geralt grunts, not meeting Jaskiers eyes. Not that Jaskier is trying to meet his either. He drinks a little, and is relieved about how much the water is able to just help him fucking chill. He drinks more and relishes the feeling of being a little bit better. He caps it and holds it in his hands, unsure of what to do. 

Geralt hums to himself, and then leads Roach off the path and into the forest. Jaskier blinks, but doesn’t really know what to do but follow him. 

It takes him a fair amount of time to realize that Geralt is fucking making camp. 

“Er, we really don’t have to stop you know. I’m sure there's a town not too far from here that we could rest at, find you a contract with a beast to slay. Sleep in a bed for the night too.” Jaskier says, but nonetheless helps Geralt with setting up. It _is_ actually pretty late in the day now that Jaskiers fucking paying attention. 

He sighs and continues helping. 

When a fire is burning and the damn bedrolls are laid out, Jaskier just sits on the ground and traces the edges of the lute case. It’s worn looking, because a nice case attracts unwanted attention. He plays with a loose thread, not really focusing on anything else and not really wanting to think about how fucking awkward it is. His leg is bouncing very quickly, and he starts tapping on the case quietly.

He hasn’t played his lute today. 

It’s… weird. A small thing that seems to make everything else seem fucking worse. 

He hasn’t ever told anybody that he, sometimes, is bored of playing the lute. Like sometimes all he can do is look at it and sigh because he just doesn’t want to play it. It’s a ridiculous thing for a bard to think about their craft, and it’s a thought that Jaskier keeps very close to his other secrets. 

It’s a frequent thing that when he composes, he can’t fucking remember what he plays and sings most of the time, and he forgets to write down what he _does_ remember. His song book is more of things messily scribbled at weird angles and, more often than not, abbreviated to hell and back so that he has no idea what he actually wrote down later. He’ll be singing a verse and then have to stop, because he _can’t fucking remember_ what else he wrote, which is so damn ridiculous because _he wrote it,_ why can’t he remember it?

It’s truly muscle memory that is his saving fucking grace, and the fact that he has to quietly sing his songs to himself to remember them. Geralt probably thinks it has something to do with his ego, but how is he supposed to say that he does it so he remembers his own creations? That he _will_ try to write down the lyrics but never finishes it, and then gets distracted by something else and comes back to a half finished mess?

Jaskier doesn’t like his songbook. He wants it to be pretty and neat, but it’s a damn mess that doesn’t make sense to him, let alone anybody else. He wants to be proud of it, and he _is_ proud when he sings and performs in taverns but there's a _reason_ he performs the same damn things over and over, and practices new songs till his fingers could fall off before he plays in public. 

There's a strong, random urge to throw the songbook in the fire. He clenches his jaw and holds onto his lute tighter. 

He still loves his lute, still loves playing. It’s just hard sometimes. 

A lot of things are hard. 

The frustration is all but gone now, and replaced with this heavy feeling over his mind and body. He just wants to lay down and never get up, because everything is _so fucking hard,_ and why can’t he just _be like everybody else_ and get a fucking break and _do things that shouldn’t be hard._

The heaviness begins to feel like a firm, painful pressure on his chest. He closes his eyes tightly and rubs his chest, trying to get rid of it even though he knows it won’t go away for a while. 

He’s so fucking tired.

“Jaskier.” He opens his eyes and sees golden ones focusing all their attention on him. It’s an intense feeling to be watched like this. Geralt looks about as awkward as Jaskier expected him to look, like he doesn’t know where to fucking start with what happened today.

Jaskier figures an explanation might be the least he owes Geralt for not leaving him on the side of the road.

“Sometimes,” Jaskier begins slowly, “I feel...bad.” What a wordsmith he is today. “It’s a lot like I feel too many things, and too many small things just build up until all I can do is _feel_ frustration, and usually I don’t have a breakdown in the middle of a road but today was worse than usual.” 

“This has happened before?” Geralt's eyebrows furrowed together, and Jaskier can’t help but think fondly, _cute._

“Uh, yeah. Not often, but enough that I know when they’re going to happen and I usually calm down before they end in a mess.” Jaskier pauses, unsure what to explain next.

“What helps?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier blinks. 

“I don’t know, trying not to think I guess? I’ll get stressed and overwhelmed and it’s like a boiling point of things I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to feel all of them so I cry. Sometimes I feel better, sometimes I don’t.” He looks down and watches his hand as it taps quickly on the case. Just watching. 

His mind goes a bit blank.

“You fidget a lot.”

Jaskier blinks, then frowns. “Thanks?”

“Why?” Geralt asks, nodding in the direction of his hand.

“Oh,” Jaskier replies. “It helps. Doing certain things I mean. They just... I don’t know. Make things easier.”

“Why didn’t you do anything to help today?” Geralt asks with a frown, and Jaskier shrugs. 

“Kind of weird, isn’t it? Not something people are supposed to do.” He thinks back to his childhood, when his mother was yelling at him to _sit still, damn you! What the hell are you doing this time? Can’t you just fucking listen to me?!_

Geralt hums, one that Jaskier recognizes as _‘I don’t really agree with that, but I don’t know humans that well.’_

Jaskier shrugs. “Parents didn’t like it. Or tutors.” He offered. “They had me sit still, and they’d smack my hands with a stick if I didn’t listen. Take away things too.”

Geralt narrows his eyes, in a way that would make Jaskier nervous if it was actually directed at him. “They hit you?” 

Jaskier just shrugs again. “They thought that they could fix me, they were just assholes about it.”

There's a long, awkward moment of silence. 

“I don’t mind.” Geralt blurts out, then blinks at himself. “If you do things that look weird. What do you do that helps?” 

Jaskiers hums to himself, looking back down at his hands. “Things with my hands, a lot. Tapping and like, waving them? It’s not really like that, but it kind of is. Snapping too, though people _really_ don’t like that. Playing with things helps, like the ring.” He holds up his ring, as if for emphasis. “Helps me relax or pay attention. Uh, moving my legs and rocking? Rocking is a big one, I don’t really realize I do it unless it’s pointed out. A lot of people think _that_ one's weird. I really just can’t sit still,” Jaskier says with a smile that isn’t very real. 

Geralt is frowning again, and Jaskier shifts uneasily. “That’s it?”

Jaskier looks up in surprise. “What?”

“That's it? That’s what people get mad at you about?” Gerlat is starting to look a little angry, and Jaskier is...surprised, and feeling a little warm. In a fuzzy way. 

“Yeah. Just those things, and my overall talent at being a pest and annoyance of course.” Jaskier says with a grin, and Geralt snorts and shakes his head, but Jaskier knows him well enough to see the smile in his eyes. 

“I see you do those things sometimes.” Geralt says then, and Jaskier stops tapping. “I didn’t realize it helped. I didn’t mind then, and I won’t mind now. If you need-” He pauses, then continues, “- if you _want_ to do them, that’s fine by me. And if something like today happens again, we’ll figure something out.”

Jaskier gives him a small and genuine smile then, and he lets his shoulders slump a bit as he relaxes. “I’d like that, my dear witcher.” He replies softly, and looks down at his lute case for a moment before his fingers begin tapping again. 

His mind goes a little blank. 

**Author's Note:**

> stay safe my loves


End file.
